Why I don't fix stuff for other people

I hate it when I fix stuff that doesn't need fixing. By the way, it happens. If I was doing this for a living I would have to rip people off to stay alive (or in business, anyway).

I never wanted to know what a f'ing solenoid is, you know. Who the fuck cares what a solenoid is?

A couple of years ago I replaced the solenoid in the golf cart. I was following the advice of a golf cart forum on the web. By the time I had made my way into a central electrical junction of the cart, I discovered that the solenoid was probably just fine. It was the wire that went from the solenoid to the key that was bad... oh well, we had a new solenoid anyway - yahoo.

Well, apparently I carry a solenoid curse. Fast forward to today.

After Thing 2 had her accident on the desert (broken arm, etc.) back in March, I discovered that one of the ATV's wouldn't start. It came home from the desert o.k., but it wouldn't start for me to move it. I turned the key and NOTHING. So I decided it was the solenoid. That is what was wrong with the golf cart when it acted the same way, (here's the flaw in my thinking), so I figured that it must be the solenoid again.

I left it sit for six months. I had called a mechanic a few months back from Craig's list to help, but he never showed up. Ugh.

On Monday I decided to go out in the morning (before it was beastly hot) and pull out the solenoid myself. I researched on the web, found diagrams, found a source for a reasonably priced new one, and it arrived in a couple of days.

Today I put it in. It was a pain in the ass. It is hot outside, the part was almost to spec... making it difficult to put in. Difficult, but not impossible.

I charged the battery, installed the battery, and .... NOTHING. Fucking, NOTHING.

Then I realized... as I stood over the machine I realized there was a red switch on the left handlebar. It said "engine" and on the left it said "off" and on the right it said "off", but in the middle it said ... I don't remember... maybe "on".

Yeah, that's right. There's a red switch that turns the fucking engine off, and on if you want.

Are you laughing at me? Seriously. Are you laughing????

Yep, I moved the switch to the middle point, tried the ignition, and yes, it started.

WTF???

The solenoid was fine. It was a switch that no one has ever touched. Apparently when Thing 2's friend brought home the ATV he turned off the switch. Good guy. He was trying to do everything right.

I fixed something that didn't need to be fixed. This is why I don't feel confident fixing things for other people. I'm afraid my ignorance will cost us all time and money.

Ugh. I NEVER EVER wanted to know what a f'ing solenoid was. Actually, I still don't - but I know that wires go in to a solenoid and a lot of wires go out - but basically, I don't give a rat's ass.

Stupid solenoids. Stupid me. I gotta get a job, and find someone that shows up when I need something fixed.

Whoring for a car

Hey, I'm not above begging. We have another driver coming in the family and could use some more wheels. With no job and a 1993 second car that will likely head off to ASU next fall, any path to another set of wheels is worth a try.

Would you consider voting for me in this promotion to get the use of a new Lexus for a year?

Even better, would you consider a link in your blog?

Here's the address for a link or to vote: http://www.drivehs.com/vote/106216 It goes to a page that lets you vote directly. I think earlier in the promotion it made you sign up, but it doesn't do that anymore! (But if you sign up, I'll vote for you!)

Wouldn't it be sweet if we won? If you can help we will be so grateful!

It's hot, but summer is winding down anyway

We're starting to get ready to go back to school. Wow, the summer went fast. School starts on August 6. I'll have two at the high school and one in the middle school. Elementary school is over - and I can't believe that, either.

The weather has been consistently over 105 for weeks, and today the pool air sensor says the air is 111 degrees. It's like living in a freaking hair dryer, and if the sun is beating down on you it is unbearable. I just keep reminding myself how I feel in January, even better, in April and May. I still prefer this weather to the long wait for spring and summer after a snowy, gray winter.

The last few weeks have continued to deliver their fair share of bullshit, but my tolerance for it has improved significantly - so the funk has wound down pretty well.

Thing 1's car, my mom's old Lexus, was acting weird again. Running very rough on a 115 degree afternoon. Last time it behaved that way it was $1700 to fix, so I was thinking that I should give some consideration to Cash of Clunkers. Turned out it was just a loose spark plug wire, and since that was part of the $1700 repair, there was no charge. However, I still needed to spend $1000 for a new radiator, upper and lower radiator hoses, a fuel filter, and a thermostat. The car is old, the parts are expensive, and there's nothing intelligent about living in the desert with a leaky radiator... oh, joy.

All the chickens are laying eggs now. We have 47 hens and 2 roosters, yielding at least two dozen eggs per day. I sell them now. They are $3 per dozen. The egg money basically pays for the feed and animal bedding for their pens.

We have at least two chickens that occasionally lay double yolk eggs. It is a fun surprise. We have also learned about "fart eggs", which are quirky, tiny, itty-bitty eggs. They are about the size of a quail egg. Sometimes they have yolks, but they can also not have yolks. So far all of ours have had at least a tiny yolk spot. Interesting. Nature is very interesting.

I'm not sure I have ever posted about our "special needs" chicken. Well, we have one. Her name is politically incorrect, so please forgive us. Her name is Gimpy.

When we received the last batch of chicks from the hatchery Gimpy was included. She clearly could not walk, and after careful inspection I concluded that her legs were fine. It looked /looks as though the connection from her brain to her legs is not so good, and when she was a little chick she was stepped on and didn't eat much (because getting to the food and water was challenging). I thought she would fail to thrive, and after all of the baby chicks we have had, I just didn't think she would make it. I'm the moron that labeled her Gimpy.

Gimpy is alive and well. She wobbles around, but mostly sits under a cover in the pen by herself. She is accepted by her own flock (the chickens she was raised with), but once a couple of hens from the other flock were accidentally left in her pen over night. When I went out the next day the two "outsiders" had Gimpy cornered and were trying to peck her to death. I saved her and she healed, but it was an ugly portrayal of how survival of the fittest works.

Another anomaly with Gimpy is her beak. I'm not sure why, perhaps it is the way eats, but her beak grew long and curved. Sort of 'buck-toothed', if you will. I did some research and found out that a beak that shape will make it difficult or impossible for her to eat. I also found out that people trim chicken beaks. Go figure. I'm sure that there are some inhumane practices in the commercial poultry industry to make them easier to manage, but I got this information from a hobby chicken person that shows her birds, so I took note. After careful consideration, I trimmed her beak yesterday. She didn't even seem to notice, much less mind - kind of like trimming a nail. Weird.

One last Gimpy factoid... She is a green/blue egg layer, and we get a very small green/blue egg from that flock. I often wonder if it is hers. I'd shoot a picture of one, but it is too hot to get up right now.

I've started leaving the chickens out during the day, even when I can not stand to be out there with them. I accept the risk that a hawk or another predator might take one or two, but they seem so much happier to have freedom to roam. The dogs help keep the predators guessing, too. So far, so good. We'll see when the weather cools down.

So there's the summer scoop. Hope your summer is going well!

Whoa. It is July 9

Note - this post may be repetitive if you have read my blog for a while.  Still, writing this again works for me.

Today I realized it was past July 8.  Man, that is great.   What is even better is that I never noticed that July 8 happened.

 July 8 carries a bit of heavy baggage.  

July 8, 2005 - There were moving vans on the street.  There were movers shuttling stuff up the driveway to the van - which made the move intensely expensive.  Stupid steep driveway.

There were people everywhere.  Mover guys, my kids, soon-to-be ex-husband, his "friends" a.k.a. victims, that were helping him put his shit on a trailer and hauling it to a storage place.  Is it just me, or when you pass age 30 aren't you supposed to understand that your friends are no longer obligated to help you move?  We were both taking our respective shit and moving out - not working well together, either.  Oh, it was so chaotic.  

Making July 8, 2005 more complicated, the lawyers were meeting at the courthouse.  You see, it was the big day.  The day the divorce would finally happen.  The house would close and the divorce would happen simultaneously.  It was the only way to guarantee all terms of a "clean" split would be met.  In hindsight, and after seeing my niece's cluster fuck divorce, it was well worth the chaos.

At some point in the chaos I was summoned to the courthouse to finalize.  I left the 13 year old in charge of the move (yeah, you read that right!), and went to the courthouse.  I didn't shower, didn't change, didn't do my hair, didn't put on make-up.  I just showed up.

When I arrived at the courthouse, Mr. Ex was all dressed up.  He had on a new Italian shoes, a new shirt, and was all polished up nice and shiny.  He had his usual overdose of cologne, which was probably good because I probably smelled like moving day.

We signed off on the end of the 23 year marriage.  We picked around the final bullshit, initialed, signed in multiple, etc.  Then we went into a court room where a judge asked us if we agreed to the thick packet of terms.  We swore we new what we were doing.  In fact, we went up on the stand.  We each swore that we understood the agreement.  We swore to the terms.  It was surreal.

I was surprised by one question.  The judge asked me if I wanted to keep the married name, or return to the maiden name.  Weird.  I had no idea that was going to happen.  I chose the name my children have.  I felt that it was important for me to have their name.  I'm not sure why - but it was an easy decision.

So that was July 8, 2005.

July 8, 2006 - Another freakishly memorable day.

Mom had already suffered the stroke.  She was in hospice care, and was ready to go.

I had taken the previous day off.  My brother spent the day with mom on July 7th.  I deserved the day off to sleep.  I had found mom on the evening of July 3, I was with her most of July 4, and all of July 5.  July 6 I was with her all of the time except when I took the kids to the airport to fly off  to see their dad.  July 7 I collapsed.

On July 8, 2006 my bother and I agreed I would go to be with mom.  I woke up late, took my time getting ready, and made my way over to the hospice facility.  Yeah, I'll admit it - I was dragging my feet.  I'm late for everything.  I'm one of the assholes that people say are selfish, rude, obnoxious, bad, bad, bad people.  Yes, I'm a person that shows up late more often than I care to admit.

I'm not proud of being one of the world's pariah.  I'm not proud that people think I'm an asshole, rude, inconsiderate, etc.  In fact, I'm sad that I am labeled as such.  Hey, call it a character defect, call it whatever, but I'm not a bad person.  I'm an idiot, but I'm not a bad person.

Mom always hated how I was often out of control with my time.  She analyzed it and she concluded that I simply hate to wait.  She said I'm late because I don't like to wait.

Completely true, I hate to wait.  I'm not sure it is 100% the reason I am late a lot, but it is a huge contributing factor.  The reason I don't think it is all about me not waiting is that I HATE it when I make others wait.  I'm not an asshole.  If I hate to wait, why would I subject people I care about to waiting?  It is way more complicated that me simply being an asshole.

But I digress, sort of.

I arrived at hospice and sat down with mom.  Two days prior I had given her a massage - I'm so happy that I did, because I feel good about how I was there with her, and connected..  She was more "with it" then.  This day it was sort of a relief that she wasn't "with it" as much, because at least it seemed she was not as stressed or uncomfortable.  At least is seemed that way.  Then, if there was any sign of discomfort I was all over the nurse for more morphine.  Mom was going to die, that was the plan, but there was no way that I wanted her to suffer or feel any pain whatsoever.

I held her hand.  I told her I loved her and that I would be o.k. if she had to go.  I knew she would be worried about me, but I also knew it was time for her to move on and for me to suck it up and be tough.  (Although, as you plainly see, I still grieve.)

So after I made my grand claims of strength and gave my permission for her exit, I sat there for about half a minute.  Tick, tock, tick, tock.  Well truthfully, it was whish, whish, whish, from the oxygen machine...

"Well,", I said.  "You know how I feel about waiting, don't you?"

It was my little joke.  Mom and I joked a lot.  She always laughed at my stupid jokes.

It was amazing.  It was unbelievable.  I will live with the next moments for the rest of my life.

Mom died within moments of my joke about hating to wait.  She went into clear changes within a minute, and I would guess it was 10 minutes until she was completely gone.

Yeah, she knew I hated to wait, and she knew I was as ready as I'd ever be to lose my best friend.

I cried.  I cried with joy for her.  She was free of the body that trapped her soul after her stroke.

A year or so later this was confirmed when she described the stroke and the time after to me through a medium.  She confirmed that she was hanging on for me.  She told me lots of interesting stuff - none of which was information the medium could have possibly guessed, all of which was specific.  Very specific.  She even told me what to do with the unfinished quilts I was wondering about.  She told me without being prompted or asked.  Seriously.  It was unreal!

O.K., so there is July 8 for you!  It is a mighty big date in my life, and what is even better is that it passed this year without me realizing it.  This year the day slipped by.  Ah, the beauty of time passing.  Sweet, sweet time.

Yesterday I happened to find a bunch of patio furniture for 75% off.  I redecorated my patio by the pool and am sitting out here loving the cool night air.   July 8, 2009 was remarkably unremarkable.  Thank God for the unremarkable days in life, huh?

Time is good.  Healing is good.